What I Bear For You
by CheshireEffect
Summary: I really, truly, deeply love my redheaded friend, companion, and cohort. From the very day I met him, he's gone above and beyond to try to help me; to make me happy. And, even though I didn't give him anything in return, he's been happy. After all Matt has done for me, I'm going to be honest with him. I'm going to reveal the one part of me that he's never seen. Sequel to TICB.
1. Matt

**Another one! What now! A co-authoration (that's now a word) with ginniirox, my son as of four weeks ago I believe. He's awesome (you should already know this)! So, so, so, so…erm let's move on. This is a sequel to 'Things I Can't Bear'. Blame the terrible summery on me, I am terrible about these things.**

**Dedication: For CatatonicVanity, who brought up the idea of a sequel and also for ginniirox, who gave me the plot idea.**

**WARNING: Rape, violence, blood, prostitution, an abused Matt, and a pissed Mello. **

**Disclaimer: I nor ginniirox own, co-own, or have any association to Death Note outside of being fans… so yeah, don't sue us.**

**What I Bear For You**

…

I jumped up from the couch as Mello stumbled into the apartment clutching the side of his head after slamming the door open. Not bothering to pause my game I was at his side in an instant.

What happened?" I all but shouted and he winced while giving me a weak glare.

"Do you have to fucking yell Matt? I'm right fucking here." Mello said before falling onto the couch. I stood uselessly on the side of the couch, not sure what to do. I settled for apologizing and he just rolled his eyes.

"Matt?" he asked after a moment and I looked at him questioningly.

"Yeah Mello?"

"Turn off the game! Jesus my head hurts enough without that shit blaring in my ear." He snapped and threw his arm over his eyes. I fished around in the pile of empty chip bags on the coffee table until I found the remote and turned the TV off. Mello sighed before rolling over on the couch.

"Get me a bag of ice, a bar of dark chocolate and my laptop Matt." He said and I hurried to do as he requested, relieved to have orders. It wasn't that I was slow or couldn't do things on my own. I was just so used to Mello ordering me around that it was strange when he didn't.

I handed bag of ice to him and he placed it against the bruise forming at his temple and hissed.

"It's fucking cold." He grumbled and snatched the chocolate from me as well. When he had a good sized chunk he smiled and it morphed into a humorless laugh. Soon he was clutching his sides and wincing at the pain his laughter seemed to cause him. "I really fucked up. I really, really fucked up. Shit, are concussions supposed to hurt?"

My eyes widened and I snatched the bag of ice off his head. He sat up and scowled at me.

"What the hell Matt? Give it back." He snapped reaching out for it but I ignored him, taking my shirt off and wrapping the ice in it. I handed it back to him and he gave me a 'what the hell' look.

"When you have a concussion you're not supposed let the ice touch your skin directly Mello." I told him and kneeled in front of him to look his head over. He had a pretty good sized bump on his temple but it didn't look too serious. Going to the bathroom for a towel, I wet it and returned to Mello. He bit his lip as I gently wiped the blood away and avoided looking me in the eye.

"Mells, what happened?" I asked and he seemed shocked by the question…or the fact that I used his nickname. I hadn't called him Mells since we were fifteen.

Grabbing his chin I looked him in the eye and kissed him lightly. I was still unsure about his feelings toward me so it wasn't impossible that he'd punch me in the face for kissing him. Instead he gave a small smile before frowning, his eyes darkening.

"I lost FO." He said and I….what? FO…_Fall-Out_…lost? My eyes widened as it clicked. He lost FO.

I opened my mouth and then closed it, choking on the words. The disk. The computer chip I had sold my body for was gone? The multi-billion dollar, top-secret government _techno-terrorist weapon_ was gone?

For a long moment I couldn't speak, fighting the urge to cry or throw up or both.

Happy that my goggles were hiding the true emotions in my eyes I smiled a little and combed my fingers through his hair gently. "Don't worry we can get another one." I told him and turned to the laptop, ready to look up Namikawa again.

Suddenly Mello's off the couch and pinning me to the coffee table, eyes spitting fire as the laptop crashes to the floor. "Don't you fucking dare!" he yells in my face, nails digging into the palms of my hands.

"I'll get it back." He continues quietly as he sits in my lap, releasing me from his grip to run a frustrated hand through golden strands of hair. "Just stay out of it Matt."

I nod silently and he seems surprised, if not satisfied, that I had given in so quickly. He gets up and picks up his fallen laptop and I head to the room with a lie about going to bed.

Fetching my laptop from the dresser I shove it into a backpack along with a change of clothes and sneak out onto the fire-escape. There's no way Mello would let me leave. Going against his orders was sure to get me punished but for once I wasn't doing what Mello wanted.

Holding my boots in my hand I freeze when the fire-escape groans under my weight and make my way as quietly down the ladder as I can, holding onto the last rung and dropping to the ground. Walking from the alley, I jog toward the garage of the apartment complex and hop in my car. It revs to life and I smile, stroking the steering wheel before putting it into gear and leaving.

…

"What can I get for ya' darling?" a voice asks and I look up to see a ginger-haired woman with a note pad waiting to take my order. She smiles at me and I glance at the menu before pointing to the hot-fudge sundae on the dessert page.

She wrote it down. "I'll bring it out in a bit, Hun." She said and disappeared behind the diner's counter. Turning back to the laptop I dialed the number listed on the screen and stepped outside for a moment. He picks up on the fourth ring.

"Namikawa speaking." Reiji said and I lit a cigarette.

"Hi it's Matt, I believe we've met before. Red-head with amber eyes." I told him and he made a sound of recognition.

"What can I do for you Matt?" he asks and I felt relief wash through me.

"When you created FO did you place a tracker in it to monitor it's movements during the testing phase?" I asked him.

"Of course, we always do that in case it's stolen." He replied, sounding confused as to why I'm asking.

"Good, now did the prototype you gave Mello still have the tracker in place?"

"I don't see why—" he began but I cut him off.

"Just answer the question. Does it have the tracker in, yes or no?"

"Yes it does, although I deactivated it when I gave it to him." He conceded with a sigh and I let a true smile slip onto my features.

"I need you to activate it and give me the tracking codes." I told him.

"Why?" He sounded alarmed under the professional tone he tried to keep.

"Mello's lost possession of it and I plan to get it back." I gave him the number of a disposable cell phone that I kept in my car and told him to send me the codes as soon as possible.

…**.**

When I got back inside the waitress was sitting at the table with my sundae. Sitting down across from her I dipped the spoon in it and took a small bite then left it alone.

"Sundae not doing it for ya'?" she asked and I shook my head. "Well then…it's my break. How about we go out front and have a smoke, my treat." She offered and stood up before holding out my backpack and laptop. When we get out front she lit two cancer sticks and handed one to me.

"So what's up? You look down." She said after a few silent drags.

"I got something really special for my friend and he lost it, so I'm trying to get it back." I told her and she nodded.

"That's a drag. Well I hope you happy hunting Sweetie but I gotta' get back to work before Danny fires me. Five minute breaks are a crime. Hope ya' find what you're looking for." She said and rubbed her cig out against the wall. She walked back inside and I finished my own cigarette and crushed it under my boot.

…

Getting dressed in the diner's bathroom, I'm back in my contacts and wearing black, form-fitting clothes, not a stripe in sight. I shoved my goggles in my backpack and slipped on knee-high wedge boots.

I normally didn't wear heels but these were special. They came with a matching necklace that had a button on the back. If I needed it, I could kick an attacker and push the button, sending out an electric current from the heel of the boot. It only had two charges however, one for each foot.

I had bought them; thinking that they were cool but had never thought I'd need them. Well, not until now. Packing up my back-pack again I leave the diner. I retrieved my cell from the car and memorize the tracking directions. Laying my laptop out on the passenger seat I plug in the numbers and set the tracker. Starting up my car I look over and curse.

The chip was located somewhere on Farwell Street and from what I remembered from when Mello and I were kids, Farwell was lined with warehouses and rundown apartment complexes. The whole street was a kill zone pretty much. Luckily it was also prostitute lane so I could definitely work from that angle. Shutting down the laptop after rechecking the address, I shove it under the backseat and leave my car in the diner's parking lot. No way was I bringing my baby anywhere near Farwell.

…

When I step off the bus, I spot her immediately. She has the same bird's nest of purple, black and green hair that she did as kids, but now she's wearing clothes that match. She walks up and takes me by the arm, leading me toward a back alley, crowded with other women going in and out.

"First time you talk to me in three years and it's to get an audience with one of my top buyers. What ever happened to you and Mells?" Raven grumbles as she leads me upstairs toward the room where the man that stole FO was waiting.

I had called Raven and asked her if she had heard anything floating around about a stolen computer chip and she had shocked me by telling me that she had seen a computer chip the shape and size of a DVD on the nightstand of one of her regulars.

His name was Stephan and he ran an underground crime syndicate from what I had gathered. Small enough to stay out of the attention of any authorizes but still powerful in the crime world. It wouldn't surprise me if Mello knew of him.

When I get in the room I recognize the chip immediately. A man with cropped brown hair is holding it delicately, turning it over as he inspects it. When we enter the room he eyes Raven and I up silently before beckoning us forward.

"What is it Raven? I'm about to conduct business." He asks and gestures towards the other men in the room. Suddenly I'm scared. I can't just walk up and ask for Fall-Out. They'd kill me.

What would Mello do? Right after the thought I have to hold in a laugh. He'd come in, guns blazing, in his tight leather pants and steal the chip…

That's it.

Plastering on a seductive smile I introduced myself and then looked over at Raven for assistance, as if I was too shy to continue.

"Well Stephen," she begins, perching in his lap with a seductive smile to match my own. "I've always treated you good and a little birdie told me you'd be having some guests over, so I decide to provide some entertainment. Mattie here is my protégé and I decided why not teach him a couple things while I was at it." She reaches out and wraps an arm around my waist.

I felt eyes on me and did my best to look innocent yet sexy. It wasn't that hard since in all actuality I'm only eighteen. With my red hair and amber eyes I am exotic. Raven introducing me as her protégé just amped up my appeal. I was fresh meat in the prostituting world.

Stephen looked me up and down before pulling Raven closer and placing kisses along her exposed shoulder. His eyes never left me though, as if he was trying to place me. I stared him down and cocked a hip out.

"How about we take your protégé for a couple of rounds before getting down to business? I'm sure you all wouldn't mind." He said, addressing the other men in the room. They shake their heads and he grins. Standing up he plops Raven down in his chair and approaches me. His fingers tangle in my hair pulling it back so that I'm looking up into his eyes.

"Watch him Raven, kay? See how he does." He tells Raven and releases he to go over to a closet in the right wall. The closet opens to reveal a fold down bed and I look over at Raven before pulling her up and down the hall. When we're in the bathroom I lock it and look deep in her eyes, making sure I have her full attention.

"Ray, I need you to grab the chip and run, okay? As soon as you have an opportunity I need you to take it and leave, find Mello. My car is in the Sally's Diner parking lot on Seventh Avenue. Our apartment's on Twelfth." She nods, eyes going wide as she realizes that I plan to stay here. She opens her mouth to speak then closes it and pulls me into a tight hug.

"Be safe Mattie, I'll tell Mells where you are as soon as I see him, promise."

…

When we get back to the main room Stephan looks Raven and I over. Raven plasters on an innocent expression and explains that I'm nervous, earning a few chuckles from the various men.

I try to calm my pulse as best as possible as I strip off my boots, socks and gloves. I know why I'm scared, I know very well. This isn't the first time I've used my body for Mello's gain but this is definitely the first time Mello wasn't here with me, watching me to make sure I was safe.

I know that he watched because he was worried about his bartering chip being hurt but his presence always gave me a sense of comfort, even if its sincerity was debatable.

I continue to strip until I'm only in my boxers and lay out on the bed. I beckon toward Stephen and the other's making sure I have their full attention as Raven reaches out toward the DVD shaped weapon on the coffee table. Her fingers are inches away from the prize when I pull Stephan into a kiss and feel fingers tugging at my clothes. I moan and gasp at all the right times, working them into a frenzy and keep my eyes away from my friend.

As they get more exited I feel a cold blast of air and I know that the door is open. I look over in time to see a blur of black, purple and green disappear out the door before I'm up scrambling in front of the men as they try to run after her. Grabbing up my discarded boots, I throw one at a tall strawberry blonde man and press the button on my necklace. He yelps, falling to the ground as electric currents set his nerve endings on fire.

The other boot is thrown at the man nearest to me and I press the button again just as another tackles me to the ground. Pain shoots through me as my head meets the corner of the coffee table and my leg is stepped on. Kicking out as my vision blacks out for a moment, I feel my heel connect with flesh and inwardly smile at the grunt of pain that follows. My victory is short lived though as I'm flipped on to my front and my arm is twisted behind my back. I try kicking out again but my arm is bent until I hear a pop and my whole shoulder screams in agony. I scream along with it before cutting off with a whimper as knees press into my back

My vision goes out once more as I slip into unconsciousness.

…

When I wake up I handcuffed to a bed and my shoulder is throbbing. I'm in a different room as well, the paint peeling off the walls around me and the distinct scent of sex in the air. Blowing at my bangs I try to get them out of my eyes but they're plastered to my face with sweat.

Bringing my legs up to my chest with a blaze of pain from my shoulder as the movement jostles it I narrow my eyes at Stephen as he comes in.

He sits down on the bed where my legs used to be and looks me in the eye. I hold his gaze giving him my best glare. Suddenly he smiles, startling me although I try my best not to show it.

"How'd you know I had the chip and where did Raven take it?" he asks and I continue to glare my lips sealed tight. There was no way I'd betray Mello, even if I was tortured. Even if Mello was the one torturing me, I'd never be able to hurt him in any way. That's why I'd forgiven him for all the pain he'd ever cause me and why I was currently cuffed to a bed.

The smile slips from Stephens face and he sighs. "Keeping quiet isn't going to help you."

_Neither is talking, _I think but I've made up my mind not to open my mouth. He lets out another sigh and pulls something from his pocket. It's the key to the handcuffs. He holds it up in front of my face and my eyes involuntarily follow it as it's placed on the night table before snapping back to him as he pulls out a pocket knife.

I know what he's doing. He's giving me two options; answer his questions and go free or endure the pain to come until I break. What he doesn't know is that I've already chosen.

…

When the knife bit into my flesh the first time my fingers clenched into fist. The cut was long but not deep. Blood welled up along my thigh making me want to pull them back up to my chest but that's not an option since they've been bound to the bed like my wrists.

The knife is set down and another question is asked. After a long moment of silence the cold blade is back and I receive my punishment for my stubborn silence.

This continued for what felt like hours but I had lost all sense of time long ago. My nails had left bloody crescents in my palms and cuts litter my skin by the time Stephan ran out of questions to ask. Some of the wounds were deep while others were shallow, long while others were short but they all hurt and blood was staining the sheets beneath me.

Going limp when my ankles were untied I screamed in surprise and anguish as I was flipped, wrist crossed. The movement sent pain blazing through my entire body and my vision went white like it did when Mello pleasured me.

But this wasn't pleasure and Mello wasn't here.

I kick out when I feel fingers yanking at the hem of my boxers but Stephan grabs my foot before the blow connects and pins it to the side, effectively spreading my legs. Before I can move again the knife's blade is buried in my dislocated shoulder.

A broken, sob laden scream rips from my throat and I feel bile rise up before I empty the meager contents of my stomach onto the bed. Stephan makes a disgusted sound as he undoes his pants, baring himself.

Mello would be ashamed of me tears but at least I won't beg to be set free. I'd never beg.

I scream for a third time and arch my back when he enters me. I've only felt this agony twice before and it's still unbearable. I try to hold in my sounds of pain like I did with Mello, if only to recover some of my dignity, but fail as he sets a brutal pace, each movement causing more anguish to flare up.

My nails are digging into my palms again, tearing into the flesh, leaving my hands bloody and numb and I'm gasping for breath. Fingers dig into my hips dragging me back as he pounds into me.

His thrust become erratic and when he cums it stings my insides. My breath catches and I gag when he pulls out, his seed and my blood trailing down my inner thighs. My arms are shaking but I'm determined to stay upright and not fall into my own filth.

Mello will be here soon and then I'll be safe. That's all I can think as I stare at the scratched up headboard.

…

I'm shifting in and out of consciousness when I hear them. The gunshots.

The room I'm in is empty and cold. I'm still cuffed to the bed and my arms have locked up in their positions holding me up. Dragging myself up with a whimper until I'm kneeling I listen intently as everything goes quiet.

That's when I hear it. Someone is calling my name… no, not someone. _Mello_ is calling my name. I open my mouth to call out but the only sound I manage is a small squeak of raspy air.

"Mello?" I whisper and frown. My voice won't go any higher. Bracing my good arm against the headboard I jerk the other one as hard as I can and the affect is instantaneous. My scream hurts my ears and I slump forward with a whimper. My vision swims as fresh tears make their way down my face.

Oh God Mello, save me.

My prayers are answered as the door to the room slams open to reveal a pissed looking Mello. He looks ready to murder someone (I have no doubt that he has already) but his expression quickly changes to one of horror when he sees me and I want to cry.

Belatedly I realize that I already am as Mello crosses the room in two large steps. He seems to hesitate, looking at my wounds with uncertainty. This uncertainty scares me.

"Mells, please…" I think of asking to be uncuffed but there's still a knife in my shoulder. "Mello, take out the knife." I tell him. My voice is too weak, I hate it. Biting my lip as he takes a hold of the knife I bite it nearly in two as he pulls it fee in one clean, fluid movement, blood filling my mouth. My arms give out but he catches me, his arm snaking around my waist and keeping me up.

He must have seen the key on the night table because next my wrists are released, one at a time and Mello pulls me to him. I want to hug him close but I'm filthy and refrain. He pets my hair before looking around for something clean to wrap around my naked form. When I have a blanket wrapped tightly around me I take two steps forward and my legs give out.

My whole body hurts and I'm barely aware when Mello picks me up and carries me from the building. I hear a familiar voice and vaguely recall Mello telling it to shut up. It's female but I can't place it.

I smell the familiar leather and smoke scent of the inside of my car and sigh. I was safe.

Mello is holding me tightly and I'm sitting in his lap. He doesn't seem to care that I'm ruining his pants and I can't bring myself to tell him that the position is hurting me. I just shift and rest my head on his shoulder. His fingers comb through my hair, the pressure of his fingers varying in a soothing rhythm that they used to do when we were kids and he was trying to comfort me. It was rare but some of the nicest memories I have.

Before I realize it, I'm falling asleep and luckily I'm too tired to dream.

…

When I wake up I'm alone and for a terrifying moment I think I'm still bound to the bed, about to be tortured for information. My pulse races and I think I'm about to have a panic attack when I spot a familiar pair of orange tinted lenses. Reaching out with my good arm I grasp my beloved eyewear and pull them on as best I can. My world is once more bathed in refreshing orange.

My other arm is in a cast and as I shift I can feel the gauze covering my wounds. I'm about to pull the blanket back to look at my injuries when the door opens and Mello walks in holding a jumbo chocolate bar. He only gets those when he's really upset but I don't have long to ponder this as his precious chocolate falls to the ground and I'm pulled into a tight hug. I can feel Mello trembling and I feel scared.

What was wrong? I wasn't going to die, was I? I feel panic stir up. I don't want to die. Soon I'm shaking along with him, silent tears falling down my cheeks as worry and panic rises. The tears are stupid but I can't help it.

After a moment Mello pulls back and starts to pepper my tear stained face with kisses and to say I'm shocked is an understatement. I smile though because it's a happy surprise and tilt my head to capture his lips with mine.

My fingers brush through blond strands of silk and I sigh contentedly as Mello continues to kiss me softly.

"I love you." I murmur and as I look into his startled blue eyes I know that it's true. I've always loved Mello, that's why I've been with him for so long. He's not an easy person to get along with but I do it because I can't stand not to.

I look up at Mello's seemingly shell-shocked expression feel fear crawl through me. I know he doesn't return my feelings (I'm just a tool to him) but suddenly I'm inexplicably scared that he'll shun me.

I look down at my lap but fingers grab my chin lightly and I'm looking into Mello's baby blue yes again before he leans forward and whispers against my lips. The words are said softly, his lips brushing mine like a butterflies wings but I feel warmth fill me before he kisses me breathless.

He had told me he loved me and I felt perfect for once in my life.

…

**I don't like the way I wrote the ending but hopefully you all do. This was a lot longer than I thought it would be but tell me if the ending seems rushed. **

**Reviews are much appreciated. **


	2. Mello

**Title:** What I Bear For You

**Summary:** I really, truly, deeply love my redheaded friend, companion, and cohort. From the very day I met him, he's gone above and beyond to try to help me; to make me happy. And, even though I didn't give him anything in return, he's been happy. After all Matt has done for me, I'm going to be honest with him. I'm going to reveal the one part of me that he's never seen.

**Disclaimer:** As ze Glimster said, we don't know anything cool, so slim it, shank, or I'll break your shuck neck! -Just kidding!

**Author's Note:** Alrighty, back for ch2 of a collaborative ficcy between myself and Glimfire! She's a wonderful cyber-mommy and author. I only hope that my portion of the ficlet is half as amazing as hers.

**Author's Note II:** Oh, I wanted to thank a couple people! I wanna thank Glimmy for this wonderful opportunity to do some co-authoring. And, of course, I'd like to thank CatatonicVanity, my own source of cyber-sauce, for requesting this! That said, enjoy!

**Author's Note III:** Give me credit for later referencing Batman! And give Glimmy credit for creating Raven.

…

Stale smoke. Cheap liquor and even cheaper entertainment. A hazy backdrop dotted with faceless silhouettes in the murky lighting. The din of laughter and slurred pickup lines and clanking glasses. These are the things that I have made myself familiar with; these are the things I forced Matt away from, not because it was too crass or he was too naïve, but because there are things here… other, unspeakable things… that would ruin him. I'm fine with this atmosphere though, because I am already corrupt to such a degree that the devil might weep at my presence.

I am here, Matt-less, on a mission to gather information on a potentially new recruit for my branch of mafia. He was a sharp-shooter, his skills possibly rivaling my own. If he was reliable, I wanted him, but there were only a few ways to credit his accountability. And, as logic would dictate, I was doing the investigation myself.

With a little research on my part (I was making damn sure to keep Matt out of this one; the little intel I had on this man was sketchy at best, and I refused to risk Matt's safety any more than I had to.), I tracked and learned his daily routines, looking for a time and date that I could make contact without alerting him of my intentions.

…

That was how I ended up here, in a local bar known as Rainy Dae's, about 8 miles away from Delta Drive Ateliers. It was a live little joint, with flat-chested strippers and busty waitresses with botox-laden faces. Music poured from the crackling speakers of an old jukebox. The barkeep was overweight and smelled like onions as he leaned against the counter, cleaned a glass, and listened to the troubles of the unfortunate souls who wished to drown their misery in a fifth of Jack. –So, it was a rather dandy little shanty, all things considered.

I'd arrived about an hour ago, keeping my gaze firmly directed at a select few who caught my eyes. Some were vaguely familiar; one looked ready to start a fight at any given moment; two kept eyeing me up, as if they might be trying to decide whether or not I was a threat.

Feigning ignorance to their obvious spite, I placed the opening of a longneck bottle to my lips, taking a hefty swig before slamming it down on the bar.

…

The sound of beckoning reaches my ears, somehow, through the muffled voices and mixture of taunts and jeers and rattling music. Someone calls out to me, and my heart skips a beat. My eyes instinctively look for whoever might be addressing me. And, it is unfortunate that I find the source of beckoning. It's not the person I wish to be around.

I want to be around Matt, but tonight is not a night that I can allow that. I will not be selfish and give in to such an indulgence right now. For once, Matt's safety was coming first. All I had to do, was scope out an acquaintance, get a feel for who he is, and then decide if I should start him off at the bottom of the food chain or simply take him out back and dispose of him for wasting my time.

No need to bother Matt in this affair.

I put my meandering aside and approach a small group of men, all of which are loitering with various smokes and sippers, looking slightly over-dressed in their casual business wear.

"Have another drink. This one's on me," I hear one of them say, and I take the proffered drink, tossing the shot back and dropping the glass to the floor, where it would surely break and splinter and cause a dangerous mess.

Within moments, I feel dizzy, like I'd just snubbed out an entire liquor cabinet. I press my palms against the rim of a rather luxurious pool table and try to focus. "What did I just drink?" I murmur, trying to maintain focus.

I looked around with bleary vision and blindly grasped at a pool stick that was handed my way.

"I'll rack 'em up; you can break, Blondie," I hear one of the voice say. I immediately realize that they are pushing for a round of pool. Under any other circumstance, I'd gladly agree, eager for any chance at competition, but right now, with my head practically buzzing and tingling with numbness, and with my eyes spotting two and three of everything in sight, a game of pool would not fall in my favor.

I knew this. And yet, I put up money, making a bet. "500 bucks a pop," I say, tapping at the bulging pocket on my hip to suggest that I was good for the money. Then I chalked the head of my pool stick, clamored into a position and slid the stick through my fingers.

I waited for the reverberation of the stick nipping the white sphere, then the sound of balls clacking and skidding until two or three nested themselves in corner-pockets. But… no sound came. And it was for several seconds that I stood, stupefied, trying to grasp the fact that my pool stick never so much as touched the cue ball.

Laughter hit my ears before realization dawned on me.

My drink had been spiked with something or another, and I was thoroughly smashed. I was amidst a gamble with a handful of skilled hustlers and, in all honesty, I didn't have a penny on me. (The bulge in my pocket that I implied was my wallet was really FO; I couldn't decide on a safe location to keep it, so I kept it on my person.)

I was in deep shit, and my fate was sealed when I saw my opponent grab his own pool stick and take a stab at the cue ball, prestigiously breaking the bundle of balls in the middle and causing – _one, two, three_… Three balls went in.

"I call solids. You can take stripes, Blondie."

That voice, I'd heard it before, but I just didn't recognize it. Who was it? How did I know it? The answer was on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn't call it forth.

…

The game progressed accordingly, landing me in debt when it ended.

The money-grubbing hustlers didn't like my lack of cash, and… before I knew it, a stool was racing towards me and, and… and…

And nothing after that.

…

I woke up hours later, covered in grime and dust. I smelled like stale whisky and vomit, though I didn't remember throwing up, so I supposed that I must have been laying in someone else's puke.

With mild difficulty, I got to my feet, stretched my limbs, and sauntered out of the near-empty bar.

It didn't take long to realize that my pocket lacked a bulge and my right thigh was a few ounces lighter than it used to be. Of course, this could only mean… Fall-Out was gone.

_FUCK!_

As the gears in my head turn to make sense of things, a sudden pain tore through my skull, and I was all too aware of how I'd become unconscious. The bastards had bashed my head in.

I ran a hand through my hair to assess the damage, hissing lightly when my fingers slid over a couple tender bumps. I allow the digits to linger a bit longer, long enough to find an itchy patch of skin on my scalp; I subconsciously rake my nails over that spot and find dry blood to be the cause of the mild irritation.

In the midst of trying to ignore the throbbing sensations in my head, as well as the slight blur that still hazed my vision, I find my motorcycle, unharmed and beautiful. As I slip a leg over and straddle it, preparing to peel out of this hellhole, the full gravity of the situation dawns on me.

"Shit," I curse outwardly, retrieving the key to my bike, turning the ignition, and revving it to life. I burned rubber on my way out, leaving the throttle wide open and gunning my engine. I speed down the freeway until I come to an intersection, and… all I can think about is how stupid I've been.

The whole incident with Matt, having him whore himself out for me… just to get a damn chip – and then, I went out and lost it, like an idiot. I should have locked it damn disk in a safe and had it privately transported to Columbia, South Carolina, where I was planning on setting up a new headquarters within a month or so. _But, no_. I just had to be a greedy son of a bitch and keep FO on me when I went out.

And now, it's gone. And, if I don't get it back soon, Matt's degradation will be in vain. And… I don't want that to happen.

Because… I truly love my hacker, my companion, my cohort, my friend. MY Matt. But, in this twisted world in which we live, I cannot bring myself to tell him. Instead, I use and abuse him in every way possible, going as far as pimping him out for bits of trivial technology that can be used for terrorism.

I'm disgusted with myself. Me. Myself. My beauty. My hair that is always so perfect. My eyes that are always so startlingly blue. My body that is lean and muscled in ways that man dreams up for God. I'm appealing in every way. I am desired by everyone who lays eyes one me.

I just have one major problem. One thing that tells everyone to 'fuck-off'.

I have a tendency to be crass and raw and demanding and, ultimately, to push others away.

I am awful, a new breed of criminal. Manufactured by god and programmed by the devil himself. And yet, I am blessed with Matt, the lovable little lapdog that just keeps crawling back, no matter how many times I throw him under the bus. I don't deserve him, but it is my own little sin and secret devotion that I harbor; it is this grotesque need and desire that I have, that causes me to allow Matt in my life… even though neither of us will really benefit from this mutually destructive relationship we have.

I allow this parasitism, because I can never have him. And yet, I've already given my heart to him.

Yeah, my heart. I had one of those once. Then I met Matt and, little by little, I gave it to him, knowing that he would hold it and keep it safer than I ever could.

There'd been times when I was sure that he might offer me the same bit of trust, but I thought better of it and turned a cold shoulder on the very idea.

Matt loving me. Yeah, in some ways, he probably does love me, but that doesn't change anything, does it?

In the end, I'm always going to hurt him, and he's never going to care. In a sick and twisted way, this is how it has to work. If I were to give into my own desires and rightfully proclaim my affection, surely I would find rejection. Or, perhaps I will become mortally weakened.

Regardless to the would-be's and what-now's, I am forced to put my thoughts away. I am forced to hide them. I force them to the back of my mind and mentally beg them to stay there and not resurface anytime soon. Because when I think of Matt, I become poisoned to a degree. The thoughts and feelings that surround him warm me to the core and, at the same time it all sickens me.

No… I mustn't dwell on this any further. I need to get home. Back to the apartment. With Matt. And I need to get rid of my headache and work on a way to regain the FO I lost.

…

I entered the complex similarly to how I would any other day, still unsure of how to tell Matt about my blunder, even though I'd already mentally rehearsed such a conversation on my ride home. I slammed the door open and stomped in.

I clutched at my head, trying to relieve some of the pressure that had been reinstated.

A familiar redhead doting on me in an instant. "What happened?" he asks a bit too loudly, his voice jumping into my ears and rattling my head a bit more.

I fixed a glare on him, though it wasn't as effective as it could have been. "Do you have to fucking yell Matt? I'm right fucking here." I staggered over to the couch and dropped onto it, not even bothering to arrange my body more comfortably.

I close my eyes, and enjoy the peace and quiet – or, at least I _would_ be enjoying the peace and quiet if it weren't for the background music from Matt's too-loud Zelda game. During that time, I feel his intense gaze on me, as if he's waiting for an explanation of some sort, but I'm not sure what to tell him.

Time passes, or does it? Had it been a few seconds? Minutes? I don't know, but I finally address him non-reproachfully. "Matt?"

"Yeah Mello?"

"Turn off the game! Jesus my head hurts enough without that shit blaring in my ear." I toss my arm over my eyes and pretend that my agitation is slightly worse than it is. I listen to the sounds of rustling chip bags and BG music before all goes quiet, and I can only assume that Matt had located the confounded remote and either muted or offed the tv.

I roll over on the couch, finally getting comfortable, though I don't plan on getting much down-time, so this brief relaxation is naught but a tease to my aching and tired body.

…

I cheekily order Matt to fetch a few things for me. Namely, some ice, chocolate, and my laptop.

I didn't miss the relieved sigh that escaped him as he hurried to fulfill his task, obviously glad for something to do. (He always did pride himself on being useful to me, didn't he?)

When he returned and handed me the items in gest, I pressed the ice to my bruising temple, hissing at the contrast in temperature before moaning about it. "It's fucking cold." The chocolate was the next thing to catch my attention. It was unwrapped and between my teeth faster than I thought possible, and when I heard that loud snap of a piece breaking from the bar, and when I felt that rich, dark substance begin to melt, I smile. I can't help it.

For a moment, I feel like I'm a still a kid back at Wammy's. I'm eating chocolate, and my best friend is only a few feet away from me.

But then, once again, my thoughts drift to the problems at hand. And I remember that my _Wammy days_ are far behind. My smile warps into a bitter expression and I laugh, despite myself, because, for some reason, this whole damn situation is ironic and funny and fucked up.

The laughter stirs pain within me, and I flinch before I have the chance to hide the physical strain.

Since Matt had undoubtedly noticed this, I finally decide to reveal everything to him.

"I really fucked up. I really, really fucked up." I start off with crass revelation, glancing at Matt but not fully meeting his gaze. When he fails to respond, I rhetorically question: "Shit, are concussions supposed to hurt?

Matt reacts by yanking the ice pack from me, and I make an angry face, knitting my brows and slightly baring my teeth. My menacing thoughts and feelings leave me when I see Matt remove his shirt. (Shut the fuck up, before you say anything! If you were sitting on a ratty old sofa with a headache half the size of mine, and if a sexy redhead took his shirt off, I guarantee you'd just gawk and pray that no one sees you drool! –Not that I'm close to drooling or anything.)

He wraps the ice pack in his shirt and hands it back to me; I look to him questioningly, and he supplies the answer with ease. "When you have a concussion you're not supposed let the ice touch your skin directly, Mello." He kneels in front of me and checks out the extent of my injuries, surprising me by acting like a mother hen.

Matt appeared to make a silent assessment of my condition before erecting his position and exiting the room. He comes back with a towel and proceeds to hover over me, carefully setting to work at ridding me of blood.

I haven't the heart to look at him during this. There's so many emotions running through me, I might burst if I were to look into his eyes, goggled or not.

My eyes slip closed and his voice fills my ears. It's like music. Perfect music. Not too loud or too soft. No ruddy lyrics to muddle the sound. No droning notes that stray to pitches that don't fit the mood I'm in. No rapid change-offs that disrupt the pulse of my soul. It is something that only Matt's voice is capable of.

"Mells, what happened?"

_Mells?_ He hasn't called me that in -I don't even know how long. It was a nickname. I was his 'Mells,' just as he was my 'Matty.' (On rare occasions, I still ventured the use of his nickname, but he'd halted his use of mine, but… I never asked why. Nor have I thought about it in ages.)

I looked to him, wondering what would render the need to use the endearing term. His hand caught my chin and his lips were on mine for one brief and amazing moment. I was stunned at the tenderness of his kiss, and I longed for the inviting nature he offered. I longed to take him in my arms and show how much I cared for him, but… I can't do that.

When he pulls away, I smile at the slight tingle on my lips, the kind of feeling that only he would ever give me. The kind of feeling I wished to forever possess.

…

Before long, my content expression fades, and I finally reveal the extent of how bad I fucked up.

"I… lost FO. Fall-Out is gone."

Had this not been a dire circumstance, I might have chuckled at how wide his eyes were; I would have found great humor in how his mouth garbled, opening and closing several times, releasing only silence and surprise.

He looked like he was going to be sick. And I already felt sick.

I stared at him, trying to analyze how he felt and what might be going through that pretty head of his, but… those damn goggles. They were like an impenetrable shield. They hid too much, and I couldn't decide what he might be thinking or feeling.

And, as much as I'd love to yank those goggles away and make him show himself to me, I can't. Because that is Matt's only source of privacy. The one thing I will not take from him. The one thing that he can have all to himself. If I leave him his barrier of protection, then it helps. It really does. It makes me feel a little less disgusted at the life I've built for the two of us, just as it aides him in ways I will not ask.

…

His awkward and contemplative smile is all I can pay mind to. His fingers in my hair are all I want to acknowledge; it is a soothing gesture, and I welcome it. But, then his words find me, and they steal me from any pleasantry I might have had.

"_Don't worry; we can get another one." _ With that, Matt turns on his laptop and seems ready to get to work, utilizing his nimble fingers and tech-immersed brain.

But I'm still focusing on what he'd said. Anger flooded me at those words, and I force myself onto my feet, incapacitating and pinning him down, barely taking notice of the laptop falling to the floor.

"D-Don't you fuckin' dare!" I'm yelling when I say this. My nails bite into his flesh, and I can't be bothered to do anything about it.

Seconds tick by. He looks at me, confused, and I stare back with as much apathy as I can force.

"I'll get it back. Just stay out of it, Matt."

He affirms, and I release him, making a grab for my laptop. "I'm going to bed. Don't bother me," is all the closure I bother with when I make a less-than-ceremonious exit.

…

Of course, I have no intentions on going to bed, but I do head to my room. Instead, I just set the laptop on the bed and head to the closet. I tear open the door and kneel down, grabbing the shoes and boots two at a time and removing them, effectively baring a large rubber-grip floor matting. I peel back the several loose boards, beneath which I took to hiding things. Once the floorboards were pried up, I found what I was seeking. A box. A box full full of phones, numbers, addresses, calculations, coded messages, and things of the like.

Basically, if anyone got their hands on this one little box, I -along with almost any criminal I've ever associated with - could be put behind bars for life with no chance of parole. I grit my teeth at the very idea, slipping the boards back into place, picking up the box, stepping over the heap of footwear, and finally heading to the bed, where I sat with the laptop and box of incriminating things.

I had made a serious gaffe, not there was no time like the present to try and fix it. I had to find a way to track that chip; I had people to contact and favors to call.

…

Nearly two hours into my search, and I've found abso-_fuckin'_-lutely _nothing_! My contacts, all of them, have failed me, and the first chance I got, I had a few choice words for them. –Of course, the only words would be a muffled scream and my own snarky remark, laced with malice and mild satisfaction as I watch their bodies leak coppery paint onto the canvas-turned floor.

Yeah, I was just _that_ pissed. Even if it was my fault, someone was going to pay for my distress.

With a sigh of irritation, I get up from my perch on the bed and take my implicating box back to its realm of hiding.

Once it is put away and my footwear are all properly mated and returned to their assigned spots, I grab my Alienware, preparing to hide it in the pantry, like I usually did. (Now that I think about it, I do a lot of weird shit like that, don't I? I mean, fuck I even have a hidden compartment beneath the toilet in the bathroom, where I hide all of the details concerning deals I've made with the government to keep a few of my exploits on the down-low. It's all written up in notarized documents, which are, as I mentioned, hidden in a compartment beneath the lavatory.)

I really had a fetish for hiding things, didn't I? The thought almost makes me smile, but then my thoughts are disrupted by a horrendous banging sound. The sound repeats, and it sounds suspiciously like insistent knocking.

I can't help but stifle a growl. Nobody should be knocking at my door at this hour. I wasn't expecting visitors, and Matt never knocks. In fact, Matt was still here, wasn't he? Then again, if he was here, why wasn't he getting off his lazy ass and getting the door?

With that thought, I actually stood still, motionless, listening to that loud thumping of fists beating against splintering wood; waiting for any sign of Matt doing something to silence the noise that was giving me a ghastly headache.

But, when there seemed to be no sign of the racket ceasing, I leave the laptop on the bed and go to get the damn door myself, mentally trying to piece together reasons for Matt not doing it himself. (I couldn't hear the sounds of any game being played; and the shower wasn't running. What could he be doing that is even remotely more important than alleviating my discomfort?)

Seconds before my hand hits the knob, my hand grips a MK.23, a beautiful little gun with a dramatically short barrel and a surprisingly big kick when fired. Why did I grab the pretty little dose of heavy metal? Simple. Because, in my line of profession, I tend to make enemies, and if I was getting an unwanted visitor, then I was going to show them my own personal version of a Welcome Wagon –thought, comically, it would be more of a hearse than a wagon, wouldn't it?

As I've been doing a lot lately, I push the thought aside, undo a series of locks and deadbolts, and pull open the door, sighting an awful mess of purple, black and green, and it takes a whole two seconds for me to realize that the intricately woven nest is actually hair. Surprisingly familiar hair. The hair of one of the few females I've ever allowed into my life.

Raven.

She was more Matt's friend than my own, but that's not to say that I didn't have a hidden fondness for the chick. She was a deceptive woman with a surprisingly kind heart in regards to Matt. Save for the slightest pang of jealousy, I almost saw her as a friend. In fact, if not for my position in the mafia, she might be someone to party with now and again, or maybe have over for drinks, but… not right now. Not with how my life is. And… certainly not with that desperate look on her face.

"Raven," I address her with a surprisingly even tone. "It's been a while. Three years, right?" I turn away from her, holding the door open as if to invite her in. I'm just about to set my MK down when she places a shaky hand on my shoulder and grips firmly, as if to steady herself and stress a sense of urgency.

"M-Matt…" she says, and her voice cracks. I look to her, my own eyes piercing hers, tearing through the little defense she had.

"Matt's fine," I say offhandedly.

Her head bowed low, avoiding my gaze. "Matt… He said, he… He said to give you…-" her words trailed off, and her breaths fell unevenly in a raggedy tandem. Her sniveling is starting to wear my patience thin, and I'm about to make a threat when… she pulls her hand from my shoulder and makes an uneasy gesture towards a small metal case in her other hand.

I immediately recognize it as the sleeve of FO. My eager fingers snatch it from her, and then my whole self is plunged into a metaphysical pool of anxiety. "Spill it. Where's Matt? Raven, tell me…"

She opened her mouth to give me the answers I want, but I could tell by the tremble in her lips that this was not going to bode well. So, I took a few steps towards a counter, pulled open a drawer, lifted a false bottom, and slid Fall-Out into it before closing it all up. (Once again, me and my crafty hiding places.) For now, I deem that safe enough and grab Raven by the hand, hurrying out and dragging her with me.

"Where's Matt?" I demand, fully grasping the effects of fear for a loved one. Because… as I've mentally reminded myself and incidentally denied for so long, I really, truly, deeply love my redheaded friend, companion, and cohort. Because he's always been more than just an oddly labeled acquaintance. From the very day I met him, he's gone above and beyond to try to help me; to make me happy. And, even though I didn't give him anything in return, he's been happy.

But that's not fair, is it? Doesn't he deserve something?

With this line of thinking, my resolve is made. After all Matt has done for me, I'm going to be honest with him…and myself. I'm going to reveal the one part of me that he's never seen. The part… that actually gives a damn. The part that can love and feel and care. The part that I've always been afraid to show.

…

I'm pulled from my thoughts by Raven's voice, whispering directions to me, guiding me to where my one and only significant other is being held captive. Because, yes, she'd worriedly stumbled over her words and revealed to me Matt's intent.

And, in understanding his degree of loyalty, my heart swelled with pride and disbelief, and then it darkened with anger… because some sick fuck out there had what was rightfully _mine_.

…

I was already murmuring a word of thanks to Raven and getting out of a rather famed red rust-bucket near Farwell Street when I even processed that I'd taken Matt's car. I could only fathom that it was a suggestion of Raven's, for she'd mentioned that Matty was bound to be in pretty bad shape, so the bike wouldn't be our best bet.

But, this only worried me more.

…

With no planning, and no backup or anything, not even a second gun or an extra round of ammunition, I kicked in the front door and fired a warning shot, mentally noting to use the remaining bullets wisely. I immediately hear the safety of several guns clicking off, and my heart pounds against my ribcage. Bullets are volleyed in my general direction, all fired from different angles in rapid succession!

My first instinct is to the right and take cover behind a pillar, just like in the movies. My back is pressed against the support beam, and I keep my body curled tightly to avoid getting shot; my own gun is in my grasp, held tightly to my chest with the barrel pointed away from my person. My eyes roll upward as I time their gunshots and try to gauge how many more shots await the chance to be fired, but I can't be sure.

With one deep breath, I press my lips into a taut line and dodge from my hiding place, gun poised and my finger greedily fucking the trigger and sending lead through the skulls of every bitch I lay my eyes on; I recognize a few of them from Rainy Dae's, plundering their head and chests with bullets, pumping the last of my ammo into their remaining life forces.

Because, to a degree, I'm a fuckin' god.

I'm on a mission. I'm a deadly killing machine. I'm soaked in leather and leaving a trail of bloody footprints along my journey down the path of self-righteousness!

…

My chamber runs out of bullets, but there are still a few people standing in my way. Thankfully, one is unarmed; one is loading a gun; and another is holding a blunt instrument. I jump over the quivering mass of bleeding bodies and slam my elbow into the nose of the man who is unarmed. He crumbles instantly, and I'm almost positive that I've used enough force to snap bone, cartilage, and even do some brain damage. The fucker could die with the rest of these assholes for all I cared; I just wanted to save Matt.

I next turned my attention to the man with the now-loaded gun. My breath hitches as I realize that his gun is already loaded and aimed at me. A grin splits my face in two as I notice the slight tremor in his arm as he holds the firearm.

Intimidation seems to be my best bet here.

"Do it," I say, my voice calm and my expression crazed. "Kill me now, or be killed yourself." I slowly approach him, my strides purposeful; I'm still clutching my own emptied MK.23, and if necessary, it can be utilized as a club. I don't need to resort to this, though, for the he drops his gun and presses his palms to his eyes.

"I don't want to hurt anybody! Don't kill me, please! I have a wife and a son! I have a second mortgage on the house that needs paid off! I…-"

I don't listen to the rest of his sob story. Instead, I grab the gun he dropped and aim it at the last man standing, armed with what appears to be a lead pipe. He took a wild swing and the pipe collided with my wrist, forcing the gun from my hand and rogue shot flew from the gun, ricocheting off a metal safe and narrowly missing me.

"You son of a bitch," I grumble, lifting a booted foot and slamming it into his chest, effectively tearing wind from his lungs and sending him back against the wall, where he tried to compose himself, but I wouldn't allow it. I was on him like a bloodhound, wrapping my fingers around his throat and kneeing him in the groin. The amuse to his lower half cause cries of pain to be made, though they were muffled by his lack of oxygen. I continued to strangle him until he went limp. Then I released him and watched him fall. Finally, for good measure, I took my foot and kicked his teeth in.

…

Looking around at my silent audience of corpses, my adrenaline begins to die down. I look around, suddenly remembering the cause of my vendetta.

Matt. He'd sacrificed himself… for me. _Because he thought it was something I wanted_.

The very idea made me sick, and I found myself full of energy and motivation once more. "_Maaatt_!" I yell, receiving no answer. So, I focused on the only man I left alive –the one with the sob story. I used a forceful tone and inquired: "Where's Matt. Red hair. And the best damn friend and lover anyone could ever ask for." As I said this, I once again retrieved the loaded firearm.

His words were quick. "Back room. Down the hall and to the left. There's a bed, and…-"

I'm glad he doesn't continue with that line of speech; I'm not in the mood for spoilers on Matt's condition. (Honestly, I might have broken down right then and there if I were to receive a premature confirmation to Matt's physical state.)

By the time I make eye contact with the poor ol' sod, his eyes are wide with realization, and he whispers: "You… love him, don't you? The redhead, I mean. You've done all this," he paused, gesturing towards the pile of cadavers. "All of this… to get him back and confess your love."

At that moment, I imagined him as a teenage girl with her first Harlequin romance novel. I watched that thoughtful smile stretch across his face, and then I put a bullet through his teeth without a second thought.

Was that cruel? Perhaps, but I didn't really give a shit. Was I heartless? Sometimes. Did I care? Right now, yeah, but only for Matt's safety. My goal was to save Matt.

I almost smile at the very thought… because, had the situation been reversed, with Matt having to save me, I'm sure he'd mentally reference a videogame that he'd played a few too many times.

…

I follow the directions given and am pleased to find a door in the back. I grab the knob. The knob locks up when I try to turn it. A familiar voice reaches my ears in the form of a scream, and I opt for kicking the door in, causing it to slam open.

Upon entering, I notice the glint of light on something shiny. _Handcuffs_. More specifically, handcuffs attached to _Matt_. The knife is the next thing I noticed, jammed into a discolored shoulder. Then the ungodly amount of blood, some on the sheets and some still running off Matt's body. The scent of blood, sex, and vomit assaults my nose, and I have to force back the bile rising in my throat.

It didn't help that Matt was crying freely.

…

I had arrived with murderous intent, but now all I could focus on was the intense horror at what I was seeing. Sorry and guilt… because this was all my fault. And of course, I had an intense desire to comfort my broken little redhead.

I crossed the room as calmly and subtly as possible, taking long, easy strides. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the gore-filled scene before my eyes. I want to say something so bad, but words fail me. Then… Matt speaks instead, saving me from the silence that I've come to loathe.

"Mells, please… " He paused, as if affirming his words to himself. "Mello, take out the knife."

The request hits me hard, and I oblige, trying to ignore that look of pain and the soft whimper that escapes him. I set the knife aside and look for something to staunch the blood flow. Suddenly, I notice his arms quivering, and he loses balance. I quickly snake my arms around him and stop him from falling into a nasty mess that looks to be his own throw up.

Thankfully, I take notice of a key on the night table. I can easily guess that it's to the handcuffs, and I grab it, unlocking the metal bindings and drawing Matt close to me. It takes all my willpower not to break down and cry right there. Because, I was supposed to protect Matt. And, honestly, I wasn't even aware that he'd left the apartment until Raven showed up.

Absentmindedly, I find myself lightly petting him, brushing my fingers through red messy locks and trying to comfort him… and myself. After a moment, I stop and retrieve a blanket, wrapping it around Matt's naked form and trying to help him up. He falls within seconds, but I'm there to help, silently picking him up and carrying him out of the room and building.

Once outside, I see Raven, a look of relief etched into her features. I think about making a sarcastic remark that suggests her lack of help, but… if it weren't for her, I'd be that much further away from Matt. And he'd still be bound and on that bed, lying in his own bile.

Raven opens a door and gestures me to get inside. "I bet you're glad you took Matt's car instead of the bike, aren't you?" There's a cheeky tone masking her obvious concern for the bleeding bundle of Matt in my arms.

"Raven, shut the fuck up," is all I bother with, though… I almost wish I had the good conscious to say something more kind; perhaps I wish to thank her. But that's not how I am; not my style at all. I'm crude and crass, especially to those I care for. I push them away; it's my own way of keeping them safe… from myself.

I get into the backseat of the car and maneuver a semi-conscious redhead into my lap; his blood is soaked through the blanket, and I make a silent note to have the car professionally cleaned. I barely register that my own clothes will be ruined, for they hold no significance and are utterly replaceable.

Matt rests his head on my shoulder and I smile. My fingers run through his red mop, occasionally getting knotted in Matt's unkempt hair. For a moment, I wonder if Matt was happy with me? And if not, would he ever be? Would I be able to keep him safe and happy? If I really tried, could I do that much, at least?

I continue my attempts to soothe him, not knowing what else to do at the moment.

The car ride takes longer than I remember, and I find my mind drifting to simpler times. Back when the only dangers Matt and I faced was reprimanding for our childish wrong-doings. (Like that one time Matt and I graphitized dirty words all over the bathroom walls at Wammy's. Or that other time when Matt, that sly devil, '_accidentally'_ set a fire in the library. And of course, let's not forget the time we snuck a girl in and harbored a runaway.)

My smile widens at the mental album of memories.

The girl we'd harbored was Raven herself. Our first encounter was nothing ordinary, and I knew right there and then that she'd be a thorn in my side, but that's okay. Every rose has its thorns, or something like that. I don't know.

All I know is, back then, Matt met her first. He was twelve and I was thirteen at the time. Several homeless street-punks had her cornered and were harassing her, digging their sooty hands through her hair and clothes, searching her for anything of value. She struggled against them, and things were sure to get violent, but nothing of the sort happened. Matt and I happened by and he decided to play 'Hero.' He looked at me with determined eyes and tugged at my shirtsleeve.

"Mells," he said with a surprisingly firm voice, giving the fact that his voice was laced with that awkward squeak that came with puberty. "Mells, we have to help her. Like Batman."

"Batman?" I asked him, completely missing the concept.

"Yeah," he said, releasing my sleeve and balling his hands into tight fists. "Like Batman. He's really just a normal guy named Bruce Wayne, but he saves everyone. He's a hero, even though he has no real superpower. He's everything I want to be one day. Even if I can't wear the cowl and cape." Before I could respond to his little tirade, he made a mad dash into the clusterfuck of teens, kneeing some poor sap in the groin and sucker-punching another. The determination in his eyes was more than enough to call me to his aide. (Plus, I couldn't let him get hurt, could I?)

I raced into the thick of the action, thrusting my palm into someone's nose and ramming my shoulder into the stomach of a particularly tall boy. "Matt, go save your princess! I've got this!"

And, as I brawled my way through the rather persistent crowd, tossing wild punches and gruesome kicks, my peripheral vision granted me the sight of Matt dragging the girl to safety.

After that mess was cleared and I'd taught them mangy monkeys a thing or two, I found Matt and his damsel. I learned her name to be Raven, and she was having some troubles at home; thus she'd run away, taking to the streets. She was a light-skinned Hispanic with black hair with green and purple streaks that stained her head unceremoniously. She was a short girl with small breasts (at the time, they were small; she was still young and her body had yet to fully develop) and a rather kind, if not spunky attitude.

At Matt's request, I helped sneak her into Wammy's. We hid her in the room we shared. Matt gave up his bed for her, and in turn I offered for him to share my bed with me. While we studied or attended classes, I assume Raven played Matt's games or something, because she never touched my stuff -for that, I was grateful; I hated when people messed with my things.

We snuck her food and drinks and extra blankets when necessary.

It was rather interesting, to say the least. We kept up the charade for almost three weeks before getting caught.

…

By the time the memories have run their course, I realize that Matt is breathing evenly, eyes closed, his body slumped against mine.

I silently muse at how precious he is, even when marred with ugly injuries.

…

Finally, the car comes to a stop and Raven helps me to get Matt out and into the apartment. Once in, I lay Matt on the sofa and request Raven's help on tending his wounds. (She resides with a young woman named Christy who's training to be a nurse, so it was only logical that she'd picked up a bit of first aid.)

I watched intently as she cleaned and wrapped his wounds before tending to his arm. "There's not much I can do," she said, referring to Matt's badly injured arm. "But I can wrap his arm in a makeshift cast."

"I don't care what you have to do, just fix him to the best of your ability." I mentally cursed at my lack of medical training. "Whatever you manage to do will be fine for now. At least until I can have a personal doc get here."

…

Before long, she finishes to the best of her know-haves and what-gives, and I grab my phone and call for my own private doc to check him out. She offers me condolences and tells me to give Matt her best wishes. She tells me that she'd like to stay, but her own life was busy and surely missing her in her absence.

I give a curt nod and murmur: "Matt… thanks you, I'm sure."

And her last words as she leaves are: "Mello, you're welcome. You don't have to be such a sourpuss all the time." And I don't miss her warm smile before the door closes behind her.

I can see why Matt likes her.

Several minutes later, the doc arrives, assesses the damage, and properly fixes a cast on Matt's arm. "That's the worst of it, I believe," he says. "Aside from the trauma of being brutally tortured and gangbanged."

If fix a glare at his blunt words and wish for the telekinetic ability to make his head explode.

I offer payment to the doc and he's on his way, not so much as offering words of support or closure, for this was strictly business on his behalf, and he wasted no pleasantry.

…

I leave Matt's side only for necessities in his time of recuperation. Meaning, I only left for bathroom breaks and to get chocolate. And each time, I did so as quickly as possible, not wanting to leave him alone any longer than necessary.

FO was still in its hiding place, nearly forgotten.

And it is on one of my returns from a chocolate-run that I find Matt waking; his goggles, which I'd left by his side, are in their proper place, hiding his eyes and offering a comfort I could not provide.

Carelessly, I drop my chocolate and grab Matt, pulling him into my arms and holding as tight as possible. In that moment, a wave of emotions hit me, all at once. Shame, guilt, fear, relief, happiness, and love. And… it all assaults me so quickly that I find myself quivering, but then again, Matt's shaking too. I can't tell who's started the small earthquake between us, but we're each full of emotions and at a loss for words.

I can't help holding on as tight as possible, unwilling to lose the one person I love. When I pull back, I kiss him. Not on the lips, but on the forehead, then the cheeks, and nose, and eyes, and everywhere I can reach. I have the most intense desire to love him, and to prove my feelings.

He surprises me by bringing his mouth to meet mine, and the instant electricity is almost startling. Our mouths, teeth, and tongues become a pliable recipe for passion as his fingers thread my hair and our make-out session becomes heated, desperate, and something far more than any other mouth-mashing experience I've ever had.

We break apart for air, and as I'm gasping and regaining composure, I hear him say: "I love you," and it is said in the sweetest, most sincere and memorable tone, from the most flawless person I've ever laid eyes on, at the most perfect moment in my life.

I can only stare at him in a mixture of disbelief and awe. Because he said he loved me, and that look in his eyes, shielded or not, tells me it's true. In turn, I imagine my own expression is something to behold, for it is not often that I allow myself to be so open and vulnerable as this.

While sifting through my own sea of emotions, I watch the flicker of worry in his eyes, looking through the orange lenses, and instead of looking into his eyes, I'm looking into his very soul. I force back a shudder at the intimacy. And, suddenly, he averts his eyes, his head lowering, only for my own fingers to cup his chin and force eye contact once more.

With much anticipation, I lean in, finally finding myself able to utter the words that have been hidden away for so long. Words of adoration and affection. Words of gratitude and appreciation. And, ultimately, words of love.

"Take it, it's yours, my heart and soul. Take them both. Because I am yours, and… forever and always, I won't let you go. You are mine, Matty. Beautiful and strong. And loyal. And perfect." My lips ghost across his, and he responds by wrapping his arms around me and deepening the kiss before the last of my words could come out.

Before I could properly say, '_I love you'_.

But that's alright, I gest inwardly, that perhaps this is how things are supposed to be. My love for him is strong enough to kill for, and his love for me is strong enough to forgive me. There are no real words necessary. Just a winded and passionate kiss that seals the figurative envelope to the metaphorical letter that entails our lives.

…

**/Okay, so the ending is rushed, and the love confession wasn't the greatest, but it's done, and I'm happy. I do, however, wish that some of my thoughts were less scattered while writing this. In any case, I hope you liked it. Review!/**


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